


knocking on heaven’s door

by wolfwalkerspirit



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwalkerspirit/pseuds/wolfwalkerspirit
Summary: “Even villains got to go home, he figured.But Clarke didn’t.”orAn extended/alternate scene at the end of 2x11, where Bellamy gets a chance to really talk to Clarke before she leaves.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	knocking on heaven’s door

Coming back from Mount Weather, Bellamy didn’t feel like a hero. It didn’t matter if he rescued his people, his friends. It didn’t matter if they had won the war. Returning with the weight of ghostly eyes on him, peering from behind shadows and dark edges, he felt more like a murderer than a hero. Funny, how taking lives hadn’t weighed so heavily before. He’d been prepared to kill Lincoln, before, in the dropship when lives depended on it. He’d been prepared to kill Murphy, even took the gruesome honor of forcing the noose tight around his neck. But then Clarke, bless her, damn her, had gotten in his head and showed him just how bad it felt to be cruel. It was easier before, to let humanity loosen and blur at the edges and take and take and take until every life but his own bled through his fingers. Still, it was better this way. He’d rather feel sick for having slaughtered a mountain than feel numb for it. 

Even villains got to go home, he figured. 

But Clarke didn’t. At the gate, Bellamy waited for her, watched everyone he had saved, everyone he had failed, head inside. But not her. Instead, she stood a handful of paces out, something grim and grave in those bright eyes of hers. And when she didn’t make a move to come in, Bellamy couldn’t stop his heart from sinking. Something felt so distinctly wrong, like she was worlds away and slipping farther by the moment. 

Steeling himself, Bellamy headed over to her side, attention straying from the camp before them to meet her gaze for a moment. “I think we deserve a drink,” he sighed. Whether celebratory or to drown in, something strong seemed like what they both needed. What everyone in the camp needed, really, with the high running tension of survival and war finally crashing. 

“Have one for me.” Her words hung heavy in the air, and that was when he knew everything was going wrong. After they fought tooth and nail for everything they had, whatever kind of victory they earned was too short lived. He could feel it falling away, with the pain that rung hollow in her voice. 

“Hey, we can get through this,” he breathed, not sure if he was assuring her, or himself. Either way, it felt like a lie, because it seemed like we was cracking apart into separate pieces, and he couldn’t take the world without her in it. When the things he felt for her had taken such deep root, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t rip them out if he tried. And what scared him most is that he didn’t feel like trying anymore. 

“I’m not going in,” Clarke said, unyielding despite the quiet grief weighing in her voice. 

“You don’t have to, but will you at least talk to me?” he asked. 

For a moment, his heart weighing heavier with every beat, he thought she would say no, tell him it was too hard or that she just wanted to leave. But she met his gaze with misty eyes and nodded, hesitant at first, then more sure. Her fingers curled in the fabric of her sleeves, and Bellamy couldn’t figure if it was something of nerves or of resignation. Either way, he was relieved to have a chance to talk her down off the ledge, or say goodbye if he couldn’t. 

“Not here,” she said, gaze straying from his to skirt from Kane to Monty, to everyone else still lingering nearby. They could probably still hear, if they really tried. 

“Out there, then,” he resolved, tilting his head towards the tree line that hedged in the clearing. 

Clarke took the lead, pacing out to the trees with something tired in her step. Bellamy followed behind, and until they reached the forest, found a good enough place to stop and sit, knee to knee, backs against the same trunk, he wrestled with whatever words he meant to say to get her to stay. They didn’t come easy, honesty never had, but he tried. He had to try; if not now, then never. 

“You did what you had to do to keep us all alive. That’s all you’ve done since the moment we hit the ground. And that’s enough,” Bellamy assured. While he spoke, he tipped his head back against the bark, gazing up at the canopy of leaves and dappling sun overhead. It was just easier that way, no expectant gazes to meet, no truth to face. 

“That doesn’t change what I’ve done. Even if I don’t regret the choices I made, there are still hundreds of people dead today because of me,” Clarke replied. And it was the slight waver in her voice that caught Bellamy’s attention, made him glance over at her instead of up at the canopy sprawling above them. 

“Clarke, your shaking,” he murmured without thinking, gaze caught on the tremor in her hands she tried to force down by curling her fingers into the moss and roots underneath. A subtle shiver ran through her frame, and even when she glanced up at him, it felt like the ever present fire in her eyes had been doused. It didn’t suit her, and he wanted nothing more than to get rid of the pain making her eyes mist with tears, but the world didn’t work that way. You could run and hide, or face things head on, but choices and feelings were always there and couldn’t be so easily persuaded away. 

Reaching out, Bellamy took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. Even shaking, the warmth, the solidity of her hand against his was reassuring. Because if she was holding his hand, she wasn’t gone yet. Letting out a quiet sigh, he squeezed her hand a little tighter, trying to get through to her, trying to comfort her, trying to do whatever he could. 

“I see them, Bellamy,” she admitted on a wavering breath. The way her voice clogged, watery with emotion, made his heart twist. She shouldn’t have to endure that. “Finn, Maya, grounders from Tondc, children from Mount Weather, everyone. They won’t leave me alone, and when I see our people safe, I see all the blood on my hands. And that’s not going to change as long as I stay here.” When she met his gaze, imploring him to understand, he hated that he did. She deserved better than to be understood by someone like him. She should have been spared knowing the death and guilt that stained people like him. 

“You’re not alone in this. You aren’t the only one who’s killed people, who’s done things they’d rather not live with. We pulled that switch together, remember? I’ve got my own list of ghosts a mile long, and trust me when I say I know how much it sucks. But you’re stronger than I am,” Bellamy said, leveling his gaze at her. Though, she only shook her head, bit her lip, tears starting to fall. 

“I can’t sleep anymore. Sometimes I can’t even breathe. I don’t know what else to do,” she said through the tears, doing her best to wipe them away with her free hand. 

Heat and moisture prickling at his own eyes, Bellamy released her hand in favor of wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close. He let her bury her face in the crook of his neck, hid her from the pain of the world, even just for a moment. A hand smoothed over her hair, slow and soothing, not just for him, he hoped, but for her too. No one had ever accused him of having a bleeding heart, probably for good reason, but now, he swore his heart broke and bled and beat for Clarke. 

“Just... stay. Please,” Bellamy breathed, feeling more desperate than he had in a long time. Even with his skin damp from her tears, he didn’t want the warmth of her to disappear, to fade. Right now, she was there, alive, at his side, and that was a reassurance he never knew he needed. Whatever demons she needed to fight, he would throw his whole heart in to help, as long as it kept her safe. 

Clarke didn’t answer, only wrapped an arm around his chest and breathed a shaky sigh into his skin. 

Bellamy wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, tangled in each other, breathing in the comfort, little gestures soothing one or the other whenever the weight of the world started to get a little too heavy. He hugged her closer, held her tighter until the shaking and the tears eased. She rubbed circles into his skin with the pad of her thumb, under the hem of his shirt, when his breath caught in his throat and his eyes burned. Whatever it was, the closeness, the heat and pressure of another person held near, the fact that it was Bellamy, that it was Clarke, it worked. Even if pain, guilt, couldn’t be silenced, they could be quieted. And by the time everything had calmed, the sun was lower in the sky, casting gold in slanting rays through the trees. 

He hated to do it, but eventually, Bellamy had to break the comfortable silence that had settled over them. “What are you going to do?” he asked even though he already knew the answer. He didn’t change anything. Him being there didn’t fix anything for her, and even if this had been a moment’s solace, it wasn’t a solution. 

“Bellamy.” She said his name like she was pleading with him, like the last thing she wanted was to say the words lingering on her lips. Still, she picked herself up from his chest, gave a final scrub of her eyes with her sleeve, and met his gaze head on. “I still have to leave,” she insisted, soft and kind but final nonetheless. 

Bellamy let out a breath, feeling like the world had fallen away with it. Already, he felt cold without her by his side, without her hand in his. It felt like only yesterday that he couldn’t stand the self-righteous little princess who always had a comeback, always had to follow the rules. When had he started needing her the same way he needed Octavia, needed air? Somewhere along the lines, she’d stolen into his heart, and now she wanted to leave. Still, if that was what she wanted, what she needed to feel okay with herself, he couldn’t stop her. 

“Okay,” he rasped, swallowing back against the rising emotion. With a resigned sigh, he got to his feet and extended a hand to Clarke, pulling her up too. “You’ll come back though, someday?” he asked, wishing it was a solid statement, not the shaky question it came out as. He wanted to believe she needed him—hell, her mother, any one of the one hundred would be good enough—and had ties strong enough to call her back. 

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, looking sorry for it even as she said it. Though, he didn’t get long to study her expression, cement the color of her eyes and the curve of her lashes into his mind before she was leaning in close, pulling him into a hug that reminded him far too much of the one they had shared when she first escaped from Mount Weather. But that was a reunion; this was a good bye. Still, he held her close, breathed in the scent of earth and wildflowers that clung to her, and blinked against the burn in his eyes. 

“May we meet again,” Bellamy breathed, like a silent promise, when they finally drew apart. His hands slid from her back, down her arms, pausing for just a beat at her wrists before he let go. 

“May we meet again,” Clarke echoed. A thin, shaky smile pulled across her lips, even though sorrow misted her eyes and pain haunted her expression. She took the first step back, farther from camp, farther from him, and his gaze fell to the fallen leaves underfoot, regret and disappointment swirling together in his chest. That hurt more than he thought it would, watching her walk away knowing it may very well be the last time he ever saw her. 

But then there were boots, her boots, in his line of sight, and gentle hands on his jaw. He only had a moment to catch her gaze before her eyes fluttered shut and she kissed him. 

It wasn’t what he’d dreamed about—and he dreamed of her more often than he would have liked to admit—and that rattled him. Not because dream Clarke was perfect (she wasn’t) or because real Clarke did anything wrong (she didn’t). But because he could taste salt on her lips, because he knew it was from tears he couldn’t save her from. Because he knew the moment they parted was the moment he lost her. 

She was soft and gentle, every thread of affection in her movements matched with one of apology. And when she eased back to breathe, rested her forehead against his, he knew it was over. Holding his eyes shut tight, he curled his fingers closer over her hips, wishing he didn’t have to let go. But he did, lips meeting in a short, final brush before Bellamy took a steadying step back. 

“Look after them, Bellamy,” Clarke said finally, eyes glassy but sure. 

“I will,” he assured. For you, he wished he could add. 

Then it was over. Something resolved coming over her features, Clarke turned her back to him (it hurt) and she walked away. 

Bellamy didn’t move until he couldn’t see the black sheen of her jacket anymore, the golden glimmer of her hair in the setting sunlight. And for a long time after, he just stood and watched the spot where she had disappeared, hoping that one day, he’d see her coming back over the ridge. But it was starting to get dark, and he had to go home, even if it didn’t feel so much like a home anymore without her waiting for him. 

He gritted his teeth, turned, and took that first step.


End file.
